


An Almost Intolerable Titillation

by mokuyoubi



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Frottage, Grinding, M/M, Tickle Fights, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 01:58:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14439033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: Aang thinks Zuko needs to smile more, but his efforts take him in an entirely unexpected direction. For the tickling box on an old kink bingo board.





	An Almost Intolerable Titillation

**Author's Note:**

> Though it should be clear upon reading, this takes place a few years after the end of the series with Aang around 17/18 and Zuko in his early twenties. This is in the show ‘verse. I don’t acknowledge the existence of the movie, so I neither know or care if this fits in that ‘verse. Title in reference to Galileo's description of tickling.

Zuko has been doing “paper work” for the better part of the morning, and Aang is bored. He wants to spar, and while there are plenty other skilled fire benders around the castle, Aang prefers Zuko. For one thing, Zuko’s a lot more creative than the average bender, and will go from hurling fire to throwing punches without warning, which keeps Aang on his toes. Also, it isn’t very fun sparring with people who are afraid of doing damage. Zuko doesn’t share the average person’s awe and reverence for the Avatar; he’s more than happy to singe Aang’s clothes and hair, to leave bruises and scratches from more physical altercations.

Besides, sparring with Zuko is fun—far more fun than anyone else Aang’s ever done it with. Maybe it’s Zuko’s passion, or the fact that with all the obligations in their lives, sparring is one of the few outlets for stress in their lives, but whatever the reason, whenever they start hurling elements at each other, all Aang’s sense go into overdrive and his pulse starts to race. It’s the closest he’s come to feeling what it’s like to be in the Avatar State while still in control of himself. It’s exhilarating.

“Come on,” Aang wheedles.

Zuko quirks a brow. “What part of ‘state business’ don’t you understand?” he mutters. 

“We can play with lightning,” Aang says in a sing-song tone. Zuko has his own trouble finding subjects of his not only capable of bending lighting, but also willing to fire it directly at their lord. 

But Zuko doesn’t even lift his head. He lays aside the top paper from his pile and scans the next, then signs his name at the bottom with a flourish. “This shouldn’t take much longer,” he says, distracted. “Just another hour or so.” 

Aang has many skills, but patience has never been among them. He flops back on Zuko’s stupidly ornate, overstuffed chaise, and puffs out an annoyed breath strong enough to make the light fixtures of the ceiling rattle.

“What are you, twelve?” Zuko asks, but he’s smiling just a little, the corners of his mouth turned up for once instead of being held in their normal grim line. 

Aang pokes his tongue out at him and laughs out loud when Zuko’s smile widens. “You should do that more,” Aang says. 

“Comment on your lack of emotional maturity?” Zuko asks. 

“Smile,” Aang tells him serenely. Just like that, Zuko’s smile is replaced with a scowl and his focus on his papers intensifies. Aang lets out another sigh and directs it with a flick of his wrist, sending it to toy with the edges of Zuko’s hair. The strands drift across Zuko’s neck and he twitches, swiping at them irritably and shooting Aang with a glare. 

“I think I was being generous when I said twelve years,” Zuko says. 

Aang bites his lip against another burst of laughter and bends a stronger gust of air. This one ruffles along the hem of Zuko’s robe, stirs the hairs on Zuko’s arms. Zuko gives him another, longer look. “Stop it,” he says. 

Over the years, Aang has gotten good at reading Zuko’s moods and learning when he should or should not push his buttons. Right now there’s something lingering in his tone that contradicts his words. Aang springs to his feet and tries to look casual crossing the room. He lets his fingers trail along the edge of the desk and doesn’t look at Zuko when he says, “I wouldn’t have thought you were ticklish.” 

Zuko sets aside another signed document and clears his throat. “I’m not,” he says. 

“You sure?” Aang asks, and swoops around the desk. He draws his fingers along the back of Zuko’s neck, curving up unde  
r his ear, keeping his touch light. 

Zuko makes an undignified noise and catches Aang’s hand between shoulder and jaw. “Stop,” he says again. He sounds out of breath, which is sort of preposterous given that Aang barely touched him. 

Aang’s stomach flips and his own breath picks up. Quite without understanding why, he brings his free hand up to tickle the bare skin of Zuko’s forearm. Zuko jerks and spins in his chair, growling, “I said _stop_.” 

“No,” Aang says. He arches an antagonistic brow and begins to tickle in earnest, wherever he can reach. He goes for the spots where he’s most ticklish—underarms, belly, knees. Zuko’s body spasms and he lets out an involuntary laugh. He lunges forward, blindly retaliating, and tips out of his chair, sending them both sprawling to the floor. 

Zuko’s the taller and heavier of the two of them, and usually his strength is enough that Aang has no hope besting him in a purely physical altercation. But since he imagines that there wasn’t a lot of playful rough-housing between Zuko and Azula growing up, Aang’s got a lot more experience with tickle fights. 

They roll back and forth on the floor for a moment, both struggling for the upper hand. Zuko’s touches are more misses than hits, too rough to tickle, but not enough to hurt. That feeling that usually comes from their fighting thrills through Aang’s veins, and it’s invigorating. He wiggles his fingers between Zuko’s ribs, making him giggle helplessly and flop onto his back. 

“Ah ha!” Aang crows, straddling Zuko’s hips and crossing his arms over his chest. 

Zuko’s chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath and he narrows his eyes at Aang dangerously. “I’m going to kick your ass.” 

They shouldn’t, but the words make a shiver run up Aang’s spine. He reaches between them to tickle at Zuko’s chest and somehow in their wrestling, Zuko’s robes have loosened, falling open lower than usual. It isn’t as if Aang hasn’t seen this before, or touched, with Zuko’s fondness for sparring in nothing but his trousers. That doesn’t explain the way little sparks of lighting spring between their flesh, tingling just on the edge of pain. 

Zuko takes advantage of Aang’s surprise to shift his weight and roll Aang beneath him, fluidly pinning Aang’s hands at his side. “You really need to stop,” his voice says, and Aang can hear the seriousness in it. But he can also see the conflict in Zuko’s eyes—his eyes are so expressive, always giving him away. 

Aang doesn’t really think about it, lunging up and using the only thing he has left. He draws his tongue up Zuko’s throat to his pulse and Zuko…he lets out a low, broken _unh_ and shifts his weight, rolling his hips down against Aang’s and oh, oh, “ _Oh_ ,” Aang whispers, because he can’t stop his own hips from rocking up to meet Zuko’s. 

Zuko folds in on himself, leaning over Aang. His face presses into the curve of Aang’s neck, breath hot against skin and Aang tries to arch his back, but Zuko’s weight presses his firmly against the ground. Instead, he tugs at Zuko’s hold and Zuko squeezes tightly around his wrists before releasing them. 

With his hands free, Aang doesn’t entirely know what to do, but he goes with instinct, smoothing them against the bare skin of Zuko’s chest and spreading the fabric wider. Zuko’s breath goes uneven, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t lift his head. 

Aang takes that as assent and slips his hands under Zuko’s robe, drawing his fingers lightly along Zuko’s ribs and down his sides. Zuko makes that sound again, the soft little unh that shoots right through Aang’s body to his groin and makes him buck up against Zuko. His arms wrap around Zuko tightly, hands splaying across the warm skin of his back. 

For a long, silent moment they are still. They breathe in together slowly, and Aang knows this is going to change everything, but the fear of that unknown future isn’t enough to stop him. He swipes his thumb along Zuko’s spine and Zuko stiffens so Aang does it again, and again, until Zuko trembles and finally _moves_. His mouth parts against Aang’s skin and scrapes his teeth along the sensitive spot above his shoulder. Aang cries in shock and arousal. 

“Zuko,” Aang says, and he almost doesn’t recognise his own voice, it’s so low and hoarse. Zuko responds by biting down on Aang’s earlobe. Aang didn’t know that could feel so good, making him grow even harder in his trousers. “Zuko, please, I want to move.” 

Zuko props himself up on his elbows and lifts his head. For just a second their eyes meet and his are dark and wide with something like awed disbelief. Aang’s fingers curl into his skin. He closes his eyes and leans up blindly, trusting Zuko to know what to do, and Zuko meets him halfway, mouth clumsy in its eagerness. 

This kiss is different from the few dozen Aang exchanged with Katara, ages ago. Those innocent, inexperienced fumblings couldn’t have prepared Aang for Zuko’s kiss. Zuko opens his mouth over Aang’s insistently and Aang mirrors him, startling when Zuko’s tongue slips between his lips. He and Katara had never done _this_ , and now Aang can’t help but wonder why. Every touch of Zuko’s tongue to his, every teasing curl against his palate, makes Aang’s hips work ever more frantically against Zuko’s. 

The room is practically on fire, and Aang doesn’t know if it’s Zuko’s powers or something else entirely, but it’s almost unbearable. Sweat beads on Aang’s forehead and on Zuko’s skin, making it slippery under his touch. Their bodies rock together, which just makes the heat worse, and yet Aang can’t stop. His muscles are so tense they burn, but he keeps moving. 

Aang tears his mouth from Zuko’s to draw a gasp of air and Zuko’s mouth goes back to his throat, licking and sucking, making Aang tremble. One of Zuko’s hands settles on Aang’s waist and rucks his shirt up high on his chest, until they’re bare skin to bare skin, pressed close. Aang’s legs fall open and Zuko settles between them. He grinds down and Aang tries to muffle his cry in Zuko’s shoulder as he shudders apart, hips working frantically to chase the sensation. 

Zuko goes still against him, all except the tiny jerks of his hips, and he bites down hard on Aang’s neck. Aang’s body jumps at the sensation. His nerves buzz, like he isn’t still coming down from his release. He can only cling to Zuko, sucking in desperate breaths. 

It’s so quiet in the aftermath that Aang’s mind can’t help but wander, the fear from before coming back and intensifying. When Zuko’s spine stiffens and he starts to pull back, Aang squeezes his fingers into Zuko’s skin and says, “Please don’t be mad.” 

Zuko shakes his head and lets out a breath that sounds like laughter. When he leans back, though, he’s wearing his normal indifferent expression. Aang searches his face and feels something in his chest relax when he notes the sparkle in Zuko’s eyes.

“See what happens when you won’t loosen up and stop with the paperwork for _five minutes_ ,” Aang says, trying to sound lofty, but his voice is shaking with too many emotions to pull it off.

Zuko’s gaze narrows and drags down Aang’s face and over his body to the wet stain at the front of his trousers. “Was this supposed to be some sort of punishment?” he drawls.

Aang feels his cheeks go bright red, which is silly given what they’ve just done. What he hopes they’ll do again, soon. And then there it is, curling secret and indulgent at the corner of Zuko’s mouth, the smile Aang had been aiming for all along. It’s different from before, though, sly, and something else that makes Aang’s stomach squirm delightfully.

“Because if it was,” Zuko says, leaning in to nuzzle at Aang’s throat, “I don’t think you’ve given me much incentive to be good.”


End file.
